


An Ocean Away

by lonevvanderer



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Barristan Selmy Lives, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, Eventual Romance, F/M, Jon Snow Knows Nothing, Minor Daario Naharis/Daenerys Targaryen, On Hiatus, Pen Pals, R Plus L Equals J, Slow Burn, Stannis Baratheon Lives, THIS WILL HAVE A LESS DEPRESSING END THAN NIGHT GATHERS I PROMISE, The Long Night, season 5 canon divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25737295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonevvanderer/pseuds/lonevvanderer
Summary: Jon Snow, recently named Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, is desperate for aid in the ever-approaching fight against the dead. After a conversation with Maester Aemon, where he learns more of the existence of a powerful Dragon Queen in the east, Jon decides to send a letter.*ON HIATUS until May (at the latest) due to final year university workload - I WILL return to this fic*
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 144
Kudos: 123





	1. Alone in the World

“A Targaryen… alone in the world. It’s a terrible thing.” Maester Aemon croaked out as Jon walked in. 

The old man was prone to his lectures, his fits of wisdom. Jon found he often didn’t mind. There were few older men at Winterfell, except for Maester Luwin. Aemon reminded him of the late Maester.

Sam turned excitedly as he heard Jon’s footsteps behind him, and Aemon, too, turned at the sound of the man’s entrance. The Maester raised his blind eyes to where he believed Jon stood, and to his credit, did not seem far off.

“What were you speaking of?” Jon enquired. Talk of Targaryens was rare, save for bitter memories of the Mad King and stolen Lyanna.

“Daenerys Targaryen,” Sam blurted out. “She is in Meereen, fighting slavers.”

Meereen. Jon took a second to remember where Meereen was. East, vaguely, but he knew it would take him a few moments to point it out on a map. Jon’s mind was filled with not much more than the geography of The Gift. It was all that mattered, as the dead marched south - how best to defend this strip of barren land.

“She’s the Mad King’s daughter, isn’t she?” Jon said softly as he pulled up a chair in between the older man and his friend. The three of them looked miserable, clad in black around a cold table.

Aemon sighed. “I do not believe her mad.”

“You’ve not met her,” Jon said.

“Neither have you,” Aemon retorted with a wry smile.

_Good point_.

Jon leaned back in his chair, anxious to speak with the Maester about his plan with the free folk. Sam slowly packed his things to leave, picking up books and scrolls as he stumbled around the room and left. Jon watched him go.

“You’ve come to ask my advice, Lord Commander,” Aemon said quietly.

Jon turned, surprised.

“Yes,” He whispered. Aemon sighed, his wrinkled hands grasping at the chair he practically lived in.

“There’s something I wish to do. That I have to do, but it’ll divide the men. Half the men hated me the moment I gave the order.” Jon continued anxiously.

“Half the men hate you already, Lord Commander. Do it.” Aemon insisted.

“But you don’t know wh-” Jon interrupted with a sigh.

“-That doesn’t matter. You will find little joy in your command, but I know you will do what needs to be done. Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Kill the boy and let the man be born.” Aemon declared, his voice firmer than it had been in the years Jon had known him.

What he said, felt terrifying. But it felt right. The men would be angered, as angered as they had always been since the moment Aemon had dropped that last counter on his name. Jon leaned back in his chair as he pondered the old Targaryen’s words, processed them.

“May an old man offer more advice, Lord Commander?” Aemon asked sweetly.

“Of course, Maester,” Jon replied, leaning forward again to await his words.

“You believe the army of the dead to be marching upon the realms of men. Stannis Baratheon offers his aid. The wildlings, too. I offer you another ally.” Aemon whispered.

“Who?” Jon asked incredulously. Jon wasn’t even sure who the Lannister king had named the new Warden of the North, and he doubted aid would come from the greedy lions in the South.

“Daenerys.” Aemon declared as Jon immediately began to protest. “Write to her. Request her help. She has armies and dragons at her command. Can you even imagine it?”

Jon had never seen a dragon.

“Aemon, we’re meant to be neutral. We can’t invite the aid of a foreign queen, or rather, a future invading one.” Jon replied. “But perhaps…”

“Perhaps I am right,” Aemon chuckled. “Did you know what was in that scroll, that Samwell was reading to me? She fights slavers in the East, adamant that the people in chains be freed. Tell me that is not a woman who would not care for an army of the dead.”

Jon scowled, deep in concentration. Military-wise, she would be worth more than Stannis’ men. But, could he incur the wrath of the whole of the Seven Kingdoms, were he to bring a claimant Queen west? He was unsure.

He had always thought that survival was more important than pride, but in this case, survival from what? The enemy to the North? Or the enemy to the South?

Sensing his brooding turmoil, Aemon reached out to his hand and grasped it loosely. A small smile sprung from his thin lips, and at that moment, Jon knew that even if the woman was to say no - to spurn him and his children’s tale - then at least he can say he tried. Seven Kingdoms be damned.

No man wanted to rule over a kingdom of bones.

“Alright,” Jon whispered. “I will try my best.”

Jon reached over the Maester to find a piece of parchment, intent on writing his lost letter and to be done with it. The Maester smiled, a forlorn type of one, a smile no doubt lost to ages of Targaryens gone by.

“I’d like to meet her, I think.” Aemon wondered aloud.

If this Dragon Queen was the hero Aemon made her out to be, Jon thought he’d like to meet her too. And with that thought, Jon put quill to paper and wrote.


	2. Dragon Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter is received, and a reply is sent.

Daenerys sat wearily in her chair, the bright Meereen midday sun hitting the back of her head and warming her back. She and her council were gathered around the table in her room, already tired from a long morning of planning. Meereen had been under her control for several weeks and changes needed to be made to accommodate the recently freed population. It was just proving a lot harder than she first thought.

A few of the noblemen were getting bold, so to speak, now that her dragons appeared absent from the sky. The thought still pained her, that she had so horribly chained them beneath her own palace. Her sons lost in the dark.

Daenerys shook the thought away as Grey Worm concluded his report on Unsullied activities. Not the other day, an Unsullied man was butchered, and she was forced to execute Mossador for defying her wishes. As she sat here now, she regretted it immensely.

“Thank you for that Grey Worm,” Daenerys offered. “Captain Naharis, if you could see to it that the Second Sons continue to supplement the Unsullied as a city guard, I shall be grateful.”

Daario, who sat gingerly by her left-hand side, nodded, a smirk on his bearded face.

Daenerys resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and turned back to her small table of men - and women - and looked to Missandei. The lovely girl often presided over her correspondence, for she was one of few she trusted not to betray her. Daario was a no-go, for he wished her not to leave Meereen. Barristan, as well, for he longed for nothing more but for her to pick up her things and sail for Westeros the very next morning.

“I think we should pause for some food. Missandei, is there anything you wish to add before we do?” Daenerys asked kindly.

Missandei held a piece of parchment in her hand, the seal still unbroken, much to Dany’s surprise. The girl broke it, stood from her chair, and smiled before she opened her mouth to speak. 

> _To the Dragon Queen in Meereen,_
> 
> _Your aid in the North is required._
> 
> _A reliable man has told me of your many deeds and achievements, and I believe you well suited to the task of helping in the fight to come. The Dead march south, towards the Wall and towards the rest of Westeros. It is hard to explain, but simply put they are led by a magical king - who I refer to as the Night King. They are extremely hard to kill, immense in numbers. I worry for when they meet the Wall, and when they wreak havoc upon the realm. They kill, relentlessly, and when they have taken your life, they take your body and add it to their numbers. A gruesome fate, that I would not wish upon even my worst of enemies._
> 
> _I understand that this may be an odd letter to receive, but I swear to you, before my Old Gods, that I do not speak falsely of the horrors that await Westeros - and the rest of the living world._
> 
> _Regards,_
> 
> _Lord Commander Jon Snow of the Night’s Watch_

Daenerys stared blankly as Missandei read out the rolled parchment. To say she was shocked, was perhaps an understatement. Flabbergasted. Confused. _Irritated_. This… man, refusing to call her any of her proper titles, comes forth and demands her help against a fairy tale.

“An… army… of the dead?” Daenerys asked, incredulous. “Did I hear that correctly?”

_What on earth was a night king?_

Barristan leant forward in his chair, intent on filling in the gaps. “What was the man’s name again?”

“Jon Snow, ser,” Missandei said sweetly.

“While I cannot confirm the man’s reports of dead men, I can confirm that this man is the bastard of Ned Stark.” Barristan continued. “I would say this is a trick, your Grace, but it is so ridiculous that I am unsure.”

Daenerys sighed. Next to her, Daario leaned closer, extending a hand out as if to comfort her. She moved her hand away. She shot him a glare, for she was annoyed he dared overstep his place in front of her council. She would take him to her bed, but not as her king - and he should know that by now.

“Yes, I am unsure too. A ridiculous tale, and a petulant man. He is bold to practically _demand_ my aid,” Daenerys spat out.

She remembered Ned Stark, or rather, what her brother told her of him. He was one of the Usurper’s dogs - who stood by as the Mountain dropped her brother’s children at the vile Baratheon’s feet. An honourable man, apparently, though the existence of some bastard at the Wall proved otherwise.

“What do you wish to do about it, my Queen?” Barristan asked kindly.

Daenerys liked him. He was older and wise, and kind. With the exception of his fit in Astapor, the man refused to treat her like a stupid child.

“What can I possibly do about it? I cannot leave Meereen for a stranger’s flight of fancy about some dead men. I will see to it that I write a response tonight.” Daenerys declared.

As much as she wished to disregard the man’s letter, she saw it as only polite that she replied with a refusal. She wondered who this Jon Snow’s reliable man was, what she knew of him. Was this man simply goading her to invade earlier than she should? And was that encouragement malicious, or benevolent? Targaryen loyalist, or no?

Daenerys nodded her head, standing up as if to dismiss her council from the room. She waited as one by one streamed from the warm pyramid room, the walls falling more silent as their footsteps receded down the halls. Daario lingered, if only for a second until just her and Missandei remained.

“Shall I go get us something to eat, your Grace?” Missandei asked with a smile.

“No,” Daenerys sighed. “I’m not particularly hungry. I was just getting frustrated.”

Missandei’s full eyebrows narrowed in concern. She pulled a chair next to the silver-haired woman and smiled, urging her to spill her soul.

Daenerys was grateful for it.

“I’m just trying to get the hang of… ruling. It’s not as rosy as my brother made it out to be, and it’s not as immediately rewarding as a conquest.” Daenerys joked half-heartedly. 

Meereen would not be turned upside down in a day, contrary to her past beliefs. She could not merely sack it and move on, as she did with Astapor and Yunkai. She needed to ensure they were fed, and clothed, and ruled fairly. Most importantly, she needed to make sure their chains stayed broken.

“And this… Jon Snow. His letter has irked me.” Daenerys finished.

“How so?” Missandei asked.

Daenerys sighed, folding her hands in her lap as she slid further down the chair - looking less prim and proper as she did.

“I do my best to help people, and here, another asks my help - and I refuse. If his tales are true, who do I help? Those I am currently helping, those closest to me in proximity and politics, or what could, in theory, result in more dire consequences if I do not heed his call for aid?” Daenerys said her thoughts aloud.

Who was she, to determine who deserved her aid, when so many asked for it? How was she to tell this Lord Commander that she does not, in fact, have a grip on her dragons - that two of them lay in chains beneath where she lives? Would he think his reliable source, reliable then?

“I’m glad you ponder such things, my Queen,” Missandei offered quietly, a hand reaching out for comfort. “It’s natural to worry. I can’t tell you what the right thing is to do, but I will not argue with your reasoning. His words may be false, but the people below this pyramid now are definitely real.”

Daenerys smiled sadly. Missandei of Naath - wiser than any man at the table, yet half their age. What she had said felt right to Dany. The people of Meereen needed her help, right now. She could not fly away because some stranger across the sea asked it of her.

“Will you pass me some parchment from the desk over there?” Daenerys asked politely, indicating her finger to the small wooden table in the corner. “I think I’ll write it now, so it’s done and out of the way.”

She would give this Jon Snow some bite, she decided. She was a Dragon Queen, yes, but she had a damn name.

> _To Lord Crow,_
> 
> _This ‘army of the dead’ you speak of, is, as far as I am aware, a children’s tale. I understand the northern cold is harsh, my lord, but even a bastard of Eddard Stark must know how to brace it. I would have it known that my name is not, in fact, ‘dragon queen’. I understand Daenerys can be difficult to write and spell for the common man, but alas, you are not one. If we must reduce ourselves to honorific animal titles, then so be it. I do not know who you are, Lord Crow, and therefore do not trust your word over what I see with my eyes, here in Meereen._
> 
> _Regretfully, I do not accept such a call to aid. My people are real and need me here._
> 
> _Regards,_
> 
> _Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of Her Name, Rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Rightful Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm. Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Queen of Meereen, the Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi yes, I promise the Daario/Dany relationship will be kept to off-screen or to an absolute minimum. I don't like him any more than most people, but did not wish to mess with season 5 continuity unless necessary.
> 
> I also promise I won't be killing of Barristan randomly in an alley. My boy didn't deserve that shit. I will be changing the plot up a bit - it won't just be a retelling of the show.


	3. The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon Snow changes tactics

“That’s a lot of titles,” Sam murmured, his round head practically resting on Jon’s shoulder as he leaned over to read the letter.

Jon sighed, dragging his rough hands over his face. He had been diplomatic, had he not? Had he not expressed how dire the situation was in the North? Now was not the time for empty flattery and Southern lullabies. But, there was only so much he could do to convince someone who was not here to bloody see it. Aemon, however, sat slumped in a chair on the other side of the table, erupted into a burst of joyous laughter.

“Brilliant!” The old Maester said gleefully, his voice ten years younger. “What an amazing woman! So many titles… achievements! You would think she had lived as long as a crone!”

Jon resisted the urge to roll his eyes, aware that the elder Targaryen would understandably be elated that his relative had responded with such… sass. Sam eyed the man, a smirk on his face, as Aemon smiled with blind but proud eyes. But Jon despaired as he seemingly began running out of options. His letters to the South had gone unanswered and Stannis was preparing to abandon the Wall to take Winterfell. The Baratheon King had declared the support of the Seven Kingdoms - Seven Kingdoms he did not yet own. Stannis’ men were useful,  _ but they were not enough _ .

“Titles mean nothing if you’re dead, Maester,” Jon said as respectfully as he could.

“Perhaps,” Aemon smirked. “But, my, they do tell of mighty tales. I’d love to ask her about them!”

_ As would I, Maester _ , Jon thought absently.

She had replied. Bitterly, perhaps, but as Jon pondered the letter he had sent - a letter he had practically forgotten he’d written, it sent so long ago - he realised that perhaps he had been… brash. He had a Lord’s education, but he’d always preferred his swordplay to letters.  Reading over her words again, Jon didn’t know what to think of her. Was her response one of arrogance, or of offence? Was it both? Was she an ugly crone, sat on a marble seat in a sweltering palace, dealing out death to those under her rule? Were her fingernails as long and dirty as her father’s? Her hair unbrushed and uncut?  But she spoke of her people, of how she wanted to help them. Could she not help him too?

Jon stood from his seat, spotting Ghost hovering by the entrance of the library. He walked towards him, the letter from the Dragon Queen still half-squeezed in his hand, and out of the room. Sam followed, as loyal as ever, urging a still-chuckling Maester Aemon to walk in front of him.  They broke out into the brisk winter air, fresh hales of snow sprinkling down in the morning breeze. Jon held his cloak a little tighter, his heart a little bit more fearful as the cold encroached ever closer. The Others would come and kill them all, just as Mance had said. That solitary  _ thing _ he had seen take that child, would take a thousand more. A million more. 

Jon shuddered.

“You’re annoyed she’s said no,” Sam offered quietly. 

Jon sighed, though annoyance was not the correct word for the fear of the North in his heart. It was too hard to explain any other feeling, though.

“Well, of course, I am.”

Sam pulled up a seat next to Jon, folding his hands together on the table as Aemon continued to smile as he listened to the two men confer.

“Rule number one of women. Be nice to them,” Sam smiled childishly.

“Sam, you don’t know anything about women,” Jon retorted.

“I know nothing about women except that one thing,” Sam joked as he struggled to help the Maester up the small step at the door of the room.

Jon paused as he passed the threshold, waiting for them to follow. He eyed the food on offer, scarcer and less appealing with each week, as the rest of the men in the room eyed him in turn. Alliser Thorne and his henchmen held themselves in the corner, a fortress of tables and tankards disinviting those they did not trust. They still were not happy - though that was perhaps a simplification. They were bitter.

“We need her,” Sam continued as they made themselves comfortable at the head table, Maester Aemon determined to climb from his wheelchair and show the men his strength. “You know that, and I know that. But, you’ll get nowhere by demanding she come to our aid.”

“I know!” Jon replied quickly, wary they were talking too loud. “I was trying to imply some urgency, Sam. The dead will not wait as we bicker like children!”

“But you’ve  _ got to bicker _ ,” Aemon interrupted as he settled down, though his breath was heaving from the effort. “My family liked to do things with fire and blood, but we did not conquer the entirety of Westeros with brute force.”

Jon knew his history. The Prince of Dorne had married Princess Daenerys to unite the Kingdoms and Dorne as one. A bit different, Jon thought - the unification of Westeros was not as life or death as an incoming horde of mythical ice monsters hell-bent on humanity’s demise. 

“So, do I keep trying?” Jon asked quietly, thanking Olly as he brought him his food.

“Yes,” The two men said in unison.

“A Lord Commander’s duty is to defend the realms of men. A Queen’s to protect her people. Your goals are aligned, Lord Commander. Show her that.” Aemon whispered.

Sam eyed one of the Baratheon guards warily after his agreement. “Have we thought it through in regards to… Stannis?”

Jon dismissed the thought immediately. If he can have both, he’ll have both. Let them claw over the Iron Throne after the fact, and not before.  Aemon was right. He would gain no allies if he did not plead his case better. He would bring no men here with promises of gold or glory. No man would defend the realm because they wanted to - but because they needed to. There was no need to marry the damn woman, but a little diplomacy couldn’t hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm aware it's been like... four months. I apologise. No update schedule as completely swamped in my dissertation as of right now. I'm also aware a few people were dissatisfied with the previous chapters, and I will endeavour to go back and edit them slightly for errors - but I won't be changing the story. Writing to release some stress amidst such a stressful year (and I hope, once this story begins in earnest, I can provide that for some other people as well!)
> 
> Apologies for short chapters, but Daenerys chapter has already been written and simply needs editing. Expect it in the next week or so - and will hopefully be more frequent after that as I get the ball rolling!


	4. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys thinks alone

Daenerys stood at the balcony overlooking Meereen, her chin resting gingerly in her hand as she leaned forward. Drogon was still gone - his dark wings absent from the sky. Daario had told her last night that a dragon queen with no dragons was not a Queen. She didn’t want to care what he thought, but she did. His words reminded her too easily of her life before, with Viserys. What would she be without her children? Dead, with her brother? A widow with the Dosh Khaleen? She kept thinking of it as an option in the past, but still, her sons could be taken from her. Still, she could be left with nothing.

It was a train of thought Daenerys no longer wished to ponder.

Missandei sat on a bench nearby, her bright golden eyes pouring over a Ghiscari text. Every once in a while, she would read parts out and ask Daenerys to translate it as a test. Each time, Daenerys would miss it by a mark. The language was foreign on her tongue, and the clothes itchy on her skin - the tokar wound so tight around her frame she felt as if she were in a cage. She held Meereen, but now it was Meereen that was desperately trying to hold her.

“What troubles you, my Queen?” Missandei called out sweetly.

She had not realised her emotions were so clear on her face. “Nothing, my friend. Do not worry yourself.”

“As you wish, your Grace, but I ask you not to worry yourself either,” Missandei said, placing the tome back on the bench and walking towards her.

Daenerys sighed. She worried about a million things. A soft hand rested on her bare right shoulder, the small imprint of a thumb squeezed on the skin of her shoulder blade in comfort. Missandei offered her nothing but relief, where Daario offered her anxiety.

“I worry about holding Meereen,” Daenerys whispered.

“Which is natural,” Missandei interjected quickly. “Ruling is harder than taking.”

_Yes,_ Daenerys thought _, that much was certain_. She had declared she would stay and Meereen and keep its people safe, but was she already failing at just that? The nobles were discontent, aghast that their way of life had been brought down by a foreign little girl, and she tried her best to feed the freedmen. They loved her, at least. For now.

“But if I cannot rule, what is the point in taking?” Daenerys thought aloud.

Missandei looked out to the great city below, squinting as the sun hit her eyes. “You speak of the Sunset Kingdoms.”

The Sunset Kingdoms. Westeros. Home. Daenerys had decreed it to be her life’s mission. Her goal. Her duty. If she could not rule Meereen, how could she hope to hold the Seven Kingdoms?

“A Dragon Queen without dragons. I have an army of foreign former slaves and a name they abhor.” Daenerys said, but her voice was full of woe, not bitterness. “Is this where I must spend the rest of my days? Is the last Targaryen to be Queen of Meereen and nothing more?”

“The last Targaryen will be Mhysa. And the Breaker of Chains.” Missandei offered kindly, but the sting that she would be the last of her line was still there. It still hurt.

She was right, of course, but it did not stop her longing for home. Her desire to reclaim the Iron Throne. If she were not to do that, she would have failed - her last and final duty to House Targaryen, unfulfilled. Though, she supposed, there was none of her family left alive to judge her for it.

“Your Grace, a letter,” Daario interrupted, his sweaty face peering through the veranda doors as he leaned his arm lazily on the stone wall next to it.

Daenerys looked to him expectantly, his outstretched arm holding the parchment making no effort to move closer to her. She needn’t moved, though, as Missandei glided forward and snatched it gracefully from his grip. When the paper finally landed in Daenerys’ hands, she was reluctant to read it. She recognised the seal immediately, despite weeks having passed since the Night’s Watch’s previous letter. A slow slither of annoyance crept up her spine as she pulled the paper apart, ignoring the mildly concerned stares of Missandei and Daario.

* * *

_Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen,_

_I must apologise for my lack of tact. I was unsure of how to address you, and believed your mighty moniker of dragon queen to be flattering. I am urgent, and demanding, because I believe the issue is urgent, and demands attention. For that, forgive me. I also sense your opinion of my father is low. However, I beg of you to ask any Westerosi you know of the value of Ned Stark’s word and honour, and know that I follow him where I can._

_I plead with you again, as a future subject of yours I imagine, that this fight I detail is not false. I, along with a few others, have witnessed these beasts of ice firsthand. The first time I saw a white walker, he was a shambling figure - encrusted in ice - stealing a child left out in the snow by an evil father. A friend of mine, Sam, killed one himself with a shard of obsidian. They_ _can_ _be killed. I killed one with fire when he could not be killed with a blade. Fire and dragonglass. That’s what kills them, Queen Daenerys. Your assistance with the former would be invaluable. Indescribable._

_Your titles intrigue me. They tell me of the type of person you are. A rescuer. Maester Aemon, here at Castle Black, is adamant you and your beasts are without peer, and I would be inclined to believe him, if I were to know the tales behind them. I cannot hope to stand against them alone, but I know that such extraordinary pleas to extraordinary people require extraordinary prices. Name yours, and I shall do what I can._

_Lord Commander Jon Snow of the Night’s Watch._

* * *

“What’s the fucker said this time?” Daario grumbled, staring out to the city below as if he had already lost interest.

Missandei was trying her best to politely read over her shoulder, and had it been anyone else she would have scolded them. Her eyes popped also, a dark eyebrow raised as she read line after line.

“He’s apologised,” Daenerys said quietly. “But, he still wants my help.”

“Yes, well you can tell this Snow-boy to piss off again,” Daario bellowed with a punctuated laugh at the end.

Daenerys narrowed her eyes, her mind still processing this Jon Snow’s words. Creatures of ice, that could be killed by fire. Two had been killed already - but how many more were there? She headed for the door to the balcony, intent on gathering her thoughts in the shade of the pyramid’s highest room.

“He is very persistent,” Dany observed, to no one in particular, still clutching the thin paper in her palms.

She could practically feel her captain roll his eyes behind her, but she paid him no mind, sitting in one of the ornate chairs placed delicately around the table. She poured over his words again, intrigued, and less offended than she had been than his last correspondence. Here, he gave her detail, he gave her _reason_. She wanted to lead Westeros one day. These were her people. A million things raced through her mind, but the last paragraph gave her pause.

_Aemon?_

“Missandei, dear friend, would you please call for Ser Barristan?” Daenerys said quickly, excitedly.

Her gloomy disposition to the doom proposed by the letter was overshadowed with hope, with awe. Who else would be called Aemon, but a man of her blood? Who else would deem her necessary to this man’s cause? Almost as quick as Missandei had disappeared, had she returned, Westerosi trailing behind her soft footsteps.

“Ser Barristan, who is Maester Aemon?” Daenerys questioned bluntly, for surely he would know.

Barristan’s eyes widened, then his brows furrowed, then his lips thinned.

“He is the Maester at Castle Black, I believe, your Grace.” He replied.

“And what is his family name?” Daenerys pressed.

Barristan paused. “Targaryen, your Grace.”

Dany smiled then, her Queenly mask on the floor amidst the dust of the Pyramid as she stood from her seat. She wished to squeal, to cheer and dance - for she was no longer alone. This Jon Snow _knew_ her kin, they were friends, colleagues. 

“My Queen, I’m not sure if you should let that distract you from the man’s stupid demands,” Daario grunted behind her.

Daenerys looked back down to the paper, sucking in a large breath to stop the shaking in her dainty fingers.

“But he is not demanding, any longer. He is asking.” She replied.

Barristan pursed his lips, remembering the Lord Commander’s previous letter. “May I read this letter, as well, your Grace?”

She handed it to him from across the table, her hands resting back on the oak as she found them now empty. Her gaze wandered back to the balcony, to the skies, as she deflated and soured. She could not abandon Meereen. She could not chase after a tale. She could not provide this Jon Snow her dragons, for she no longer controlled them. She could not heed his call, whether she believed in its legitimacy or not.

“I must say, your Grace, that I did know of Lord Stark,” Barristan murmured, but he paused when he saw Dany scowl at the Usurper’s dog’s name. “I know you detest him, but one thing you must acknowledge is that he was always true to his word. I was there when Joffrey had him beheaded. That man died with nought but honour upon his lips.”

“Honour,” Daenerys scoffed, suddenly irritated by the reminder of her family’s murder. “I’m sure his honour stayed in his lungs when they dropped Rhaenys and Aegon at the Usurper’s feet.”

Barristan averted his eyes, but only for a moment. “Perhaps… but I would not disparage the words of this young bastard. I do, however, worry foul schemes may be at play - a ploy to goad you into returning to Westeros too early? I am unsure.”

She had to admit that had crossed her mind. Dany flexed her hands, before clutching them together at the top of her abdomen. Right now, she felt too much, thought too much. She was equally overjoyed as afraid. Equally eager as sceptical. _Name your price_ , the man had commanded, but Daenerys did not know what she was willing to be paid.

“Could the Night’s Watch be a useful ally, though?” Missandei interjected.

“They’re not supposed to be political - this man cannot, or rather, _should not_ offer his aid in your conquest,” Barristan replied, his hands on his hips.

_Or what?_ Dany wished to ask. _Who would turn on him?_

“Lord Snow still offers me stories, though added in detail they may be, I cannot, for the good of the people of Meereen, believe them.” Daenerys declared. “I cannot leave Meereen like this. I promised I would stay.”

A Queen belongs to her people, she remembered, and her people would beg her to stay. Jon Snow was not her people, for she knew not where his loyalties lay. 

“Then I would advise you to simply not reply, your Grace, if your decision is to remain here.” Barristan offered, though his lips curled into a sad smile as he saw the disappointment in her eyes.

She was not alone in the world, but she would be alone in Meereen.

She dismissed her men, dismissed Missandei, to stand in the solitude of her own quarters. A part of her felt lonely, atop the tallest of all towers. She wished for the sun to be a welcome warmth rather than an oppressive flame, for the wind to be soft upon her cheeks rather than a burn on her skin. She wished for her mother, to sit beside her in this room, to tell her what to do and how to be. She had decided to stay, to be amongst her fledgeling people, with her children, but Daenerys could not argue that she was not lonely, that she was not sad.

Do not reply, Barristan had said, for her decision had been made - but her heart ached for just that little bit more, and so the ink stained her hands anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there friends!  
> -  
> These notes are added as of 22/12/20, just as a mass response to multiple messages I’ve received on this fic and others!
> 
> First of all, thank you all very much for reading this so far. I do have plans for this fic which stretch into A LOT of words, but work on it will be slow due to university commitments.
> 
> However, I’m going to address this here instead of responding to another: yes, there is now somehow a method of communication that means Dany and Jon can communicate within weeks of each other. I’ve decided that is ravens. Not canon? Correct. Unrealistic? No. I truly am writing this for a fun pen pal long night fic, but if you’re just going to comment that you find it stupid then let it be known I do really appreciate constructive feedback more than anything in the world - but that is not constructive. Without this slight communication change, the fic doesn’t exist :)
> 
> [JANUARY 2021 UPDATE: Unfortunately, this fic will be going ON HIATUS until roughly May 2021 due to university commitments - I WILL be returning to fic, as I have it planned out]


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